


Polite Conversation

by Damned_Writers



Category: Kingsman (Movies), RED (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Harry Hart is a matchmaker, and damn was it enjoyable, this was basically written on tumblr over the course of an evening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damned_Writers/pseuds/Damned_Writers
Summary: Victoria wants to show Harry that he's perfect. Harry returns the favour. Everyone has a lot of fun.





	Polite Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



“You're still perfect,” Victoria tells Harry, the first time they're together after her discovery of him still being alive. He had always been such a self-confident little bastard, but she had detected a flutter of hesitancy upon removing his glasses and revealing the scar where his eye had once been. A few, thick jagged lines spread across from the marring, as though his eyelids had been fused permanently shut.

She's been unusually soft towards him tonight, a lot of kisses and a very slow, drawn out session in which she'd tied him to the bed and spent a long time murmuring how beautiful he looks when she's fucking him with the strap-on, asking him to look at her so she can see his face turn from closed-off to blissed-out and it's still the kind of perfection that she wants to capture on camera, but instead she opts for sitting on his face afterwards.

Now, after, she's holding him, telling herself that it's for his sake, rather than because she's missed him.

She really has missed him though.

“Yes, well, my depth perception isn't,” he answers with a lightness that she knows is a bitter veneer.

“Really, darling, an eye or two less makes no difference. You could have come back without your legs and I'd still be pleased to see you.”

He grins, as though in on a private joke. “You've become sentimental in your old age. Or am I just your favourite?”

Victoria kisses him, another little concession to usual, when affection would be limited to lovemaking. “Surely you must know you're everyone's favourite. And besides, I am hardly perfect either.”

"Scandalous," says Harry, with an honest outrage that almost makes Victoria laugh. "Who has been putting that nonsense in your head?"

"Nobody," she says and gives him another kiss.

 

*******************

 

Victoria has been complaining. Subtly, and she would never admit to it herself, but Harry can read between the lines. She seems to think that she's getting too old for the sort of seduction that she executes so flawlessly, regardless of age or gender. Old age must be turning her a little blind if nothing else, he muses, otherwise she would have seen the way Roxy occasionally flirtatiously, sometimes gormlessly, eyes at her whenever they're in a room together.

Something must be done, for both of their sakes.

The agency picnic, an affair in which the elite of MI5 and MI6 mingle with the Kingsman agents, is quietly competitive. Those who already know one another show off the younger talent, boasting of their accomplishments and sipping expensive wine. By the end of it, people tend to be incredibly drunk and more than a little horny. It's the perfect time and place to formally introduce the two.

Harry effortlessly saves Roxy from a particularly boring conversation with some upper-management twit who seems to think by her polite nodding that she's interested in his diatribe on the NHS being a public disgrace and steers her with a purposeful meandering towards where Victoria naturally is the centre of attention.

“Victoria,” he says, voice carrying despite his not raising it. “Allow me to introduce Ms. Morton. A rising star at Kingsman.”

Victoria smiles graciously, holding out her hand: “Ms Morton.”

Roxy shakes it with equal tact, a mildly interested expression wonderfully masking whatever she must really be thinking. Harry really has no idea, but it seems to be his time to bow out and leave them to it.

“Ms. Winslow,” he hears Roxy say, as he turns away, scouting for Merlin or Eggsy. “Harry's barely told me anything about you, so I insist you fill in all the blanks."

“I wouldn't dream of leaving you wanting,” answers Victoria, the rest lost in the crowd. Harry should have asked them if he was allowed to listen in. Damn. Maybe next time. He might even join them.

He has a feeling those two together could destroy him, and doesn't that thought just sound wonderful.

*******************

 

Victoria remembers a young man with ridiculous floppy hair, who knew exactly what he wanted (and who took to orders so well it turns her on just thinking about it). Roxy is a little older than Harry had been when they had first met, but no less gorgeous in her confidence as she sends her a wink some twenty odd years later, asking if they would like to continue their conversation at Victoria's flat. Good god, thinks Victoria. Does Kingsman produce these beautiful agents desperate for a good fuck on an assembly line?

She has been getting glimpses of Ms. Morton's other side all day; the way her luscious brown locks being sternly tied back into a professional hairdo contrasts deliciously with her tendency to smirk out double-entendres without a blush, or her suit and tie slowly coming undone over the course of their conversation, seemingly without Roxy noticing that she's even putting her hand to the knot and loosening it, unbuttoning the first and then the second button on her shirt. Roxy Morton has some skill, even if it's absolutely clear what she wants. Still, maybe a direct proposition like this is exactly what Victoria wants as well.

 That night Victoria takes great pleasure in finally releasing Roxy's gorgeous hair from its tight ponytail, watching it pool around her shoulders like the woman is a damn model for L'Oreal. It seems Victoria has a thing for picking people with deliciously pullable hair and she plans to indulge, but first... “the rest of your clothes off, if you would be so kind” she says softly, pulling a half-naked Roxy into her lap and tapping at her t-shirt, then scraping lightly up her bare thighs.

God, there is something beautiful about pulling self-confident people to pieces; letting them know that there is so much more to sex than what they thought they knew and experiencing that moment when all the cheek has been thoroughly fucked out of their pretty little mouths, and Victoria has to admit, not since Harry Hart has she met someone with a mouth that spectacular–although Roxy, who barely swears outside the bedroom, is surprisingly a good deal more filthy with it during sex than even he.

There's something eloquent about the way Roxy Morton swears, as though she is paying a polite compliment during a garden party, rather than splayed out over Victoria's expensive sheets like the filthiest muse a painter could imagine, with two of Victoria's fingers currently massaging her dripping cunt into oblivion for the third time this evening. “Fucking cock!” she grits out, eyes tightly shut. “Not quite,” says Victoria pleasantly.

Roxy laughs, hoarsely. “I hope you're planning on letting me return the favor, I'm missing tasting your cunt,” she enunciates the last word with a precision that sounds as though she's been asked to spell it out in class. “Hm,” says Victoria, with a twist in her fingers that leaves Roxy gasping and crying out a string of expletives. “Not until you've lost that coherency darling. I wouldn't want anyone to claim I've lost my touch.”

Victoria isn't vain or insecure about how she looks at 70. She has enough lovers to keep her satisfied and she knows that she has aged with a very attractive grace, but she has to admit that having Roxy in her lap, mouthing at her breasts while she whispers dazed with lust about how she has never tasted anything better, gazing in a bemused, reverent awe at her when Victoria suggests tying her up, and lying post-sex spread-eagled and smiling on her back like she's been happily murdered , before idly and tiredly touching her skin, murmuring that she can't believe her luck, brings an entirely new kind of confidence with it. For once, Victoria allows a lover to stay the night, so they can do it all over again for the entirety of the next day.

She really must thank Harry for the introduction, even though she's sure that this had been the scheming bastard's plan all along.

 

*******************

 

She calls him up after Roxy's left at the end of the weekend. “Harry, dear, I know what you were trying to do.”

“Really?” He sounds perfectly bemused and she finds herself wanting to fuck the truth out of him, despite how exhausted she is.

“Yes. I'll have you know that Ms. Morton has just left. I'm sure she would like to thank you for the wonderful three days we've had as well.”

“I'm so pleased that you two got along,” he says, still all-innocence. “I had a notion you'd be perfect for one another.”

**Author's Note:**

> criticism/kudos, or just general screaming about all the glorious bisexuals in these movies are welcome
> 
> this was a one-evening thing so all mistakes are 100% down to me suddenly needing to write this


End file.
